"Someone knew what to look for." Jaw set, Samoon strides back to the priest.
"Someone has found your secret compartment and stolen whatever was in there. For the sake of continuing, you'd better tell us what it is...Sagrazze."
The dazed priest is barely conscious, bleeding from the shoulder and on the ground. His thin hair has bits of mud, snow, and twigs from Marianne dragging him away from the oxen.
"Err, what...?" When your words take hold, he stands up, tottering and grabbing Samoon's shoulder for support. "No! Where did they go!" The whites of his eyes are wide as he darts his head around. He falls on his knees next to the compartment, muttering "no, no, no..." as he sifts through the broken boards.
Wamblee is still beat up, but Samoon's infusion takes the edge off the aching wounds.
He turns to the priest.
"We have suffered because some els knew of, and wanted, the contents of that compartment. What was in it?"
Wamblee, the priest does not seem to hear you, but answers your question regardless. "The severed hand of Sire Fiercesco TreeBurn. Gone."
The old tales of paladins, being one of the few examples of truly admirable ifrits, are among the only fritan literature that you somewhat enjoyed back at Root.
You recall that in the days when the gods were still awake, and wild, elementals from the planes would sometimes attack cities and villages. A dark, twisted elemental of thorns and poison invaded village after village, leaving naught but ruined briar in its wake. Sire Fiercesco, sword aflame, destroyed the infectious plants and banished them for good. He also famously refused to use his sword against the wars between oreads and ifrits.
Samen, you, Iniga, and Marianne keep your pace, trees seeming to walk out of the snowy fog toward the three of you. The elemental seems to have stopped, about fifty feet away. Forty. Thirty. And finally, peering into the mist, you see...
Three oreads, huddled in a conversation. You recognize them - Matoskah and his brothers, the mildly rude els from Root.
Matoskah looks up just you as notice him. The gemmed side of his face seems to wink at you.
Samen blinks in surprise at seeing els, but half a beat too late, the gleaming gems bring things into focus.
And now the el himself winks at you, blowing you a sarcastic kiss as he grabs the shoulders of his brothers, and, in a crystalline flash, they all disappear from your vision and your Sight.
Samen sighs dejectedly. "At least we know who was responsible for the attack now, small comfort though it may be."
Iniga kicks a nearby tree in irritation. "I guess that he is gone now, most annoying. Since the threat seems to have passed, I should head back and check on Margherita and the rest."
Marianne looks up, a bird's paranoid watchfulness in her movements and gaze. She coils her legs to jump-
From nowhere, a malicious drizzle of fizzing, bubbling acid rains down upon the three of you. Marianne avoids most of it, but Iniga and Samen are covered in the clinging caustic stuff.
You still have your Sight, and you see an odd thing - like a small piece of that winking elemental falling to the ground. You walk over and see a peridot gem, a beautiful shade of green-yellow. It is about the size of your thumbnail.
Wamblee asks, with a respectful, level tone:
"Sire Fiercesco TreeBurn, the noble slayer of the elemental of thorns and poison? Why were you moving such a relic?"
"There may be more trouble. I have to go."
Even as Wamblee speaks, he has begun to turn. Then, he powers his way to the sound.
Samen lights up with glee at something interesting finally happening on this trip.
He hears Wamblee charging toward them and calls out. "If you're going to run over here, get a containment vessel from Samoon first. We've got a live one over here. Based on how it was embedded in its host, it may be infectious."
He squats down near the thing, inspecting it closely with his Sight, but doesn't touch it.
"U lyk soos die speelse soort. Wat is jou naam?"
"Wamblee, hang it all, stay with the priest!" Samoon sprints towards the sounds of pained cries and hissing.
"This is stupid, and I am stupid, and we have been stupid," growls the eldest brother. "Especially me. We knew the Spawn attack using acid. Why I didn't think to have us ready with bases and neutralizers and buffers--I can hardly stand myself."
Wamblee stops in his tracks at the words of his brothers, surprising hinself a little. Once, and not even so long ago, he would have just carried on.
"I will remain."
Perhaps experience is wearing off my rougher edges.
He stands near the priest, watchful and wary of his surroundings.
Iniga isn't particularly keen to hang around in open air with the acid rain falling. "I'm going to go check on Margherita and priest - make sure that they are ok. Let me know if you discover anything" she remarks simply.
Samen, a tiny voice responds in your mind.
moma?
Thanks to Wamblee's watchfulness, the priest does not have a chance to slink away, though you can tell he would like to.
Grico is sweating, despite the weather. There is a desperation, bordering on terror, in his eyes. "Listen, I need to get back to Hearth. The Temple needs to know about this. I will pay you gold to get me there. Do you hear me?"
Wamblee folds his arms, visibly unimpressed, and does not entertain tge priest's plea.
"I would know the truth of what you were attempting to do."
Something in your eyes lets the Saggezza know you are serious. He deflates, a picture of resigned defeat. "Well, the city of Hearth finds itself in considerable turmoil, all because of those..." He shakes his head. "It's not important. Well, the Temple decided we need the aid of the tribes...and..." He gulps, and looks you in the eye, then back down. He appears to be done talking.
Samoon, after ensuring that the fiddly gem-like creature has been placed in a proper contrivance, peels off his gloves and looks at his siblings. "This isn't a Spawn--what is it, Samen?"
Receiving no answer, he lugs his jar back, following Iniga. "What in the burning Sky just happened? Sagrazze, you don't look well."
"I think... I think it's a baby elemental. It seemed to fracture off of the other one. I'm unsure if this was the source of the acid or if it was a parting shot of the other."
Iniga strides over to the priest, making eye contact and bending over in front of him. "I want you to tell me what happened. I can heal you, but I need the full story. Like it or not, you need allies so you might as well trust someone"
"How dire is the situation in Hearth, that you would reach out to the tribes?"
The priest clears his throat. "Yes...well. As I was saying, the situation down in Hearth is dire, and we require the aid of the tribes. We assumed they would listen to reason. That was certainly going to be my first route. But. Ah, but if that did not go so well, then, well..." and he trails off vaguely again, gesturing to the box. "You know, the threat of such a...err, tool would allow them to see reason in spite of themselves."
Grateful for the distraction, the priest quickly answers Wamblee, "Some band of mercenaries I believe, like yourselves, happened to get lucky fighting some darkspawn that had...err, infiltrated the Temple. Frightful thing. Yes, well, they rose in fame after that, but turned out to be fomenting rebellious thoughts against the Inquisition. And, well, we may need strong orean arms to help keep the populace...eh, safe, you see?"
Wamblee's already cool demeanour leans more chilly after the priest's words.
"Let me see if I understand you correctly. You assumed the tribe's cooperation in forcing your citizenry back into compliance - or that you would be able to force it. Leaving that aside, what power does the hand possess that might make that possible? And who are these mercenaries?"
"Well, as the name TreeBurn suggests...the power of, ahem, flame. On a rather vast scale."
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Samen remains completely uninterested in the priest. He remains completely focused on the baby.
"I did not spawn you, little one, but I will care for you."
He uses his arcana to channel a gentle stream of Earth energy into the vial.
"Do you know who you are, or what your place in this world is?"
The energy obviously pleases the infant-like elemental.
ek gaan spesiaal wees! is the only response you receive to your question.
Margherita has seen to Martino, and has walked in on the conversation. Quickly comprehending what Grico is implying, she strides forward and slaps him in the face, knocking the priest onto the ground once more. "Porco Vulcunus! That's what I think of you and your god!" She is about to boot him in the stomach when Marianne steps in and the mercenary immediately stops and sees reason. She walks away slowly, breathing heavily and angrily.
Wamblee does not react in time to stop Margherita's kick but does try to position himself between her and the priest.
"Margherita, please move away for now."
When the mercenary has moved away, he turns back to the priest.
"I do not blame her. Whom knew that you were bringing this hand? Whom might have tasked els to seize it?"
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Samen nods genially at the elemental.
"Indeed you are. I will call you 'Spes', then."
Amazingly, Samen's terse conversation with Abby about elemental reproduction had led him to spend some moments in root lingering on just this topic while he was doing his research. He returns to the wagons, still ignoring the damage and wounded, and begins rummaging for the proper materials to care for and socialize his new ward.
"Is it...safe, Samen? Can I let it out? In other words, does it know not to spew us with acid."
"Sagrazze, were they the same mercenaries who just winked out of existence, presumably via teleportation?" Samoon folds his arms cooly at the priest. "And what does this relic do? How may it be tracked? They could be anywhere, not just at Hearth. They may make examples, test its power."
Answering Samoon's question first, he says, "No. The ones in Hearth are two sylphs, an oread, and an undine. I have no idea who these...'gem' oreads are. I can't say I know anything of tracking such a thing, I was only given a command word in case, well, in case it proved to be necessary."
Then answering Wamblee, "No one knew save the Inquisition. My mission was my own, and these from the condottiere," he indicates Margherita and the rest, "only knew they were to protect me."
He mumbles to himself, "Volcano protect us if there is a traitor within the Inquisition!" He makes a triangle over his heart, the sign of Volcano.
Wamblee replies to the priest, his demeanour unchanged by talk of the Inquisition.
"Greed and lust for power can be found in all too many hearts. The Inquisition is hardly exempt."
He turns to face his brothers.
"Samoon, Samen, what do you think? Can we track the thieves?"
Samen overhears Wamblee's question as he's going about his business. "Hmm? Oh, that sounds like a lot of work. If they have access to teleportation magic, they're probably kitted out better than us. The terms of our contract is to protect the priest, not a secret artifact. Lastly, this seems like a symptom, not a cause. Something has the elementals all stirred up, and if we remain focused on that, I'd bet we'll cross paths with these thieves again."
Having said his peace, he wanders off looking for something to write with, not waiting for anyone to disagree.
"Well, this is quite the bucket of salt lampreys," says Samoon quietly. "A bunch of thieves who abscond with an artifact imbued with the powers of flame. First off, how do we know who's the noble person in this situation? These other mercenaries, who, like us, drove off Darkspawn--they certainly don't sound like villains. The gem studded fellows who attacked us--that certainly isn't a lovely way to comport oneself, but what are the intentions of our dear priest here? Personally, I trust him as far as I can throw one of those stone animals. I don't think we should go haring off to find this artifact, but then again, we're contracted to assist."
Samoon sighs. "I can start to see the benefits of necromancy. Just kill everyone and then inquire with their shades as to what they were up to."
"I'm not for tracking thieves, personally. It's distracting us from the Meet, the breathless valleys, and all number of unspooled threads. If the Sagrazze wishes to meet, then we can amicably end the contract."
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Iniga frowns at the priest, but does sense an opportunity to best twist the situation to her own advantage. "You should have told the mercenaries, or at least myself. I know why you kept it secret, but you alienated people who were protecting you, failed to advise them of a possible threat, and now you need their assistance. Look at me, I'm from Hearth as well and you still kept it quiet."
The skald ponders for a moment before continuing. "Who actually knows the command word. I'm sure this is a powerful relic yes? So how likely is it that these thieves could actually use the device?"
While she waits for an answer she looks at everyone else in the group. "I'd prefer to try and track down the thieves, although it will be hard with their teleportation magic. If they figure out how to get it working, or plan on giving it to someone who does, then the consequences could be huge for the oread population. I'm not saying that priest has honorable intentions, but id feel better if it was out of everyone's hands - its potential damage could be huge."
"I would see it out of the hands of anyone who would point it away from darkspawn.", adds Wamblee, ice in his tone.
He then hears out his family and awaits the priest's response.
Samoon sighs and rubs his face. "And we are to track teleporting thieves for how long, exactly? Or just going to Hearth?"
"Didn't that gem-face oread say "change is coming to the tribes, whether they like it or not"? Something like that? Sounds like they had plans for the Meet too."